Replay

by Gracie1

Ian and Sara are given the chance to reclaim memories lost to turned back time. How will it affect their choices, and their relationships?

REPLAY

September, 2001

Takes place post-season one finale; after the Witchblade

has rewound time to before Danny's death. 

First-person Sara POV

Chapter One

It was one of those sublime fall evenings, crisp, cool and crystalline.   I drew the scented, sweet-wine air into my lungs and felt it surge wildly through my bloodstream like it does when you're a kid and the daily problems in life don't mess up your appreciation of nights like this.  Overhead, in the glaring coronas of the sodium lights, late-season insects did their final mad ballet.  I felt good; really good, in a way that doesn't happen very often.

I was dancing impatiently at second.  At the bottom of the ninth inning we were tied five-all with the 3rd Precinct.   Jake McCartey, fairly new in Homicide, was at bat.  The small crowd was screaming in the lusty, ill-mannered way you'd expect from off-duty cops.

The pitcher took his sweet time, ignoring the catcalls and insults, playing his fish.  But Jake was cool.  I had to admire the way he stood in the batter's box, calm and collected, his attention never wavering from the pitcher.  He was strong hitter and I snuck further and further from the base, impatient to be moving.  At last the 3rd Precinct guy wound up and let one fly.

Jake punched it hard straight over my head.  I didn't wait to see whether the outfielders would do anything with it, I didn't care.  I was too juiced to stand still any longer.  I put my head down and ran, seeing nothing before me but Danny's windmilling arm, urging me in from beyond third base. 

I ran.

At home plate I could see the catcher throw off his mask and smack his glove, shouting at whatever outfielder had scooped up Jake's hit.  He took an unsportsmanlike position on the baseline, directly between me and the plate.  Now his glove was in the air, beckoning.

"Bastard," I muttered. 

Putting one shoulder down, I plowed into the catcher just before he caught the ball.  He grunted sharply and went down like a bag of stones.  The ball sailed over his head and I crossed the plate, victorious.

My team mates crowded around, yelling hoarsely and pounding me on the back, absorbing Jake into the melee as he returned from his aborted run to first base.  After a few minutes of congratulating ourselves, spouses in the crowd started putting on pressure and things began to break up.  I was reluctant to let go of the camaraderie of the evening and took my time helping Danny bag up equipment.  Jake appeared and tossed some stray pieces into the duffel.

"You two up for a beer?" he inquired.

"Can't tonight," Danny said, jerking the tie shut on his bag.  "I promised my wife I'd be home right after the game."

I shrugged agreeably.  "Sounds good to me.  I rode over with Danny.  If you'll give me a lift back to my bike, I'm in."

"No problem."  Jake flashed his easy, perpetual grin and I felt a little glow of warmth kindle in my belly.   We humped the bags to Danny's truck and waved him off, then headed around the now-empty field to Jake's car.

"That was a nice hit, McCartey.  You'll be a hero for beating the 3^rd."

He smiled humbly.  "Their pitcher is a putz.  He laid it right down the pipe for me."

I laughed and he draped his arm around my shoulder.  I liked the warm, solid feel of it.  Although I hadn't worked with him, McCartey had been around the place for several weeks, and the buzz on him was good.  Me, I liked what I saw and he always made me laugh – an important requirement.  He'd sent signals that he was interested, and I had no particular reservations about dating cops.  It's not like he was my partner.

Under an overhanging tree he stopped walking and turned me to face him.  We were close in height and stood nearly eye-to-eye.  He had a good face, strong and even features, friendly eyes and a beautiful mouth.  I looked at him, waiting to see what might happen, surprised to realize that I actually felt up for some risk in the dating department.  It had been a long dry spell.

"Sara…"

Smiling a little, he reached up to push my hair back, then cupped his hand around the back of my neck.  He paused, giving me time to make a complaint if I wanted to.  I didn't want to, but  I noted briefly that he deserved extra points for being a gentleman.  Then he slowly pulled our faces together and kissed me. 

It was good.  Very good.  Somewhere Jake had learned that wonderful, cherishing touch of gently holding a woman's face when he kissed her.  I'd see this in movies, then go home and wonder why on earth men never caught on to this simple technique.  I kissed him back willingly.  We were a good fit.

"Sara."

Through a haze of pleasure I heard my name again.  With Jake's lips firmly locked to my own I knew he wasn't doing any talking.  Startled, we broke apart and turned to the voice.

A man stood near the trunk of our sheltering tree.  He took a step forward and his pale features materialized, surrounded by the darkness of shadows and his own black garments.

At my side, Jake bristled immediately.  "Who the hell are you?" 

The man took another step forward, his dark eyes fixed on me.  He was tall, dressed completely in black.  He was handsome in a sort of sinister way, the impression heightened by a dark beard and moustache.  Vaguely, I was aware of a heated glow on my wrist, in the vicinity of the inexplicable bracelet that had attached itself to me.  Then, as his face moved from the shadows, I remembered seeing him at the museum.

Magnificent, isn't it?

"Sara, you must come with me.  It is very important."

Something - his eyes, perhaps his voice - triggered an abrupt, icy shock of visceral recognition and I gasped aloud.  A sudden, high-pressure flow of images poured through my mind like water escaping a small break in the dam.  A disjointed string of conversations, images and events involving the stranger surged through my head.  I couldn't move.  He seemed equally affected, and we stood with our eyes fixed on each other.

Jake grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back a step.  As he touched me the bizarre flow of my thoughts shifted mid-stream and seemed to engulf him as well.  Images of Jake, and words as familiar as a memory delivered themselves into my stunned brain.  Then, as suddenly as it began, the strange connection broke.  I risked another quick glance at the dark man.  He was staring down at the grass, seemingly as shaken as I was.

"Come on, Sara."  Jake wrapped his arm tighter around my shoulder and began to pull me away.  He seemed unaware of what I was experiencing, but plainly didn't like what he could see.

The man looked at Jake, his gaze piercing.   "She does not need your protection," he whispered fiercely.  Immediately he turned those eyes back on me and his voice was soft once more.  "It is very important, Sara."

"Hey buddy, she's already got a date.  Get lost."  Pulling me with him, we turned our backs on the man and began walking away.

We cut across the outfield without looking back, and headed for the adjacent parking lot.  With each step the unreality receded and I was astonished to feel myself shaking off the effects of that strange confrontation, as though distance from the dark stranger lessened the effect.  Or maybe I was just reluctant to allow anything to ruin the first pleasant evening I'd had in a long while.  When Jake said curiously, "What the hell was that?",  I was able to dismiss it with a laugh that was nearly real.

"Who knows?" I said.  "We meet all kinds."  I glanced at  Jake's clean profile.  "So, dude.  You're my date, are you?"

"Like, totally," he replied in his best valley-speak.  We laughed.

His arm dropped over my shoulders once more and the perfect autumn evening began to move forward normally.  The warm glow returned to my insides and I chose, for now, not to examine the unsettling thoughts – memories? - whatever they were, that I had just experienced.

But something told me they weren't going away.

* * *

Chapter Two

Things were already hopping around the department when I got in early the next morning, still buzzing comfortably from the previous night.  It had been fun; the kind of fun enjoyed by normal people.  It had not ended in bed.  A closer look at Jake had revealed no frightening flaws, so I was allowing myself to feel good.

In the office I tossed my jacket in the direction of the corner and sat down, figuring I'd surprise Danny by getting a jump on paperwork.  A surprise of my own sat in the center of my mouse pad.  I lifted the lidded container and gratefully inhaled the fragrant steam of the hot coffee.  Somebody had just pushed one of my biggest buttons.  Carefully, I sipped the aromatic brew, then held up the cup and rotated it in front of my face.  A blue handwritten telephone number stood out against the styrofoam.  I pulled out a department directory and matched the number to Jake.  I smiled.  The guy had style.

Motion caught my eye then and I glanced up to see an unfamiliar woman rapidly approaching my office door.  Short and extremely plump, she wore a knit dress that was belted at the waist, giving her the unfortunate appearance of a sausage tied in the middle.  She teetered toward me on absurdly tiny feet, her high heels clattering on the worn tile floor.

"Detective Pezzini?" she asked.  I nodded and she waved a pink message slip at me, her apparent reason for tracking me down.  "I'm Wanda Hamlin, Captain Siri's temporary secretary for the next couple of weeks."

Behind her Danny appeared in the doorway, shrugging out of his overcoat.  "Hey, Pezzini."   Over Wanda's curly head he shot me a quizzical look, then carefully squeezed past her as she simpered through an explanation of the message she bore.

"My goodness, Detective, you have already had the most interesting visitor this morning.  Why, I don't know quite when I've seen such a handsome man, such beautiful eyes – and so polite!"  She fanned herself with the pink slip as if feeling overcome by the memory.  "He was most insistent that I give you this message the moment you appeared this morning."

Danny sat down at his desk and rolled his eyes.  I stood up and reached out for the pink slip, already knowing who it was from.  "Thank you, uh, Wanda.  I'll take care of it right away."

Wanda smiled, satisfied, and began to exit the office.  At the door she turned again without warning, forcing me to quickly stifle the eye-rolling look I was exchanging with Danny.

"Oh," she tittered, "that nice Detective McCartey called twice this morning too.  He said he'd already left you a message, but I thought I'd let you know anyway.  My goodness but you have some attractive young men calling on you!"  She smiled and tilted her head in a way that doubled up the chins on one side.  Fascinated and repelled, I stared at her.

With a final satisfied nod, Wanda finally made her exit.  Danny swiveled in his chair to follow her jiggling progress across the department, then wheeled around wearing a mock frightened expression.  He raised his eyebrows as I balled up the pink slip and launched it at the wastebasket. 

"Don't ask," I warned grimly.

My desk phone rang and I flipped it to one shoulder.  "Yeah."

"Sara, it's Joe."

His voice held a strange note.  I sat down.

"Can you come by for a minute?"

"Sure," I replied.  "You want Danny too?  He's here."

"No…no.  Just you."

"I'll be right there."  I replaced the receiver and pushed back from my desk.

"I gotta go to see Joe Siri," I told Danny.  I surveyed our cluttered desks.  "I will be back to do paperwork.  I promise."

"Yeah, yeah."  He waved me off good-naturedly, already bending over the first of the reports in front of him.  I went out the door resolving, not for the first time, that Danny would no longer get stuck with the lion's share of our paperwork.

Thankfully, Wanda was occupied in her file drawers when I arrived at Joe's office.  She was bent over the bottom drawer and all I could see was her voluminous behind.  Silently, I snuck by.

Joe was sitting in one of his own side chairs, simply looking out the window.  I sat down and waited for him to speak.  After a minute he looked at me, his expression fond and, I thought, more than a little sad.

"Sara, I've decided it's time to retire.  I wanted you to hear it from me."

"But…"  I didn't know what to say.  "Why?"

The sadness deepened in his face.  "I'm tired of the grind.  We want to do some traveling while we have our health.  It's just…time."

Surprise gave way suddenly to hurt and anger.  "Sure, Joe.  We'll talk at Christmas and then see each other at cops' funerals."

"Sara!"

"I've seen your mug every day for six years, Joe.  I'm just ... uh ... I'm gonna miss it, that's all."

A numbness began to creep over me even as I said the words, the same feeling of unreality I'd experienced at the softball field.  A strong, undeniable sensation of déjà vu.  Then Joe reached out to put his hand on mine and it happened again.

Horrified, I felt my mind open up once more to a flow of unwanted images.  Conversation, desperation, death.  Joe's death.  The bracelet burned on my arm.

With a huge effort I jerked my hand from Joe's.  Normalcy returned and Joe was looking at me with concern.

"Please don't be so upset Sara."

I took a deep, cleansing breath.  "Sorry.  It's…I'm all right.  Just surprised, that's all."

He nodded.  "I've been thinking about it for weeks, but I know this comes sudden for you."  He stood up and walked over to the window.  "There is one other thing," he began uncomfortably.

I knew.  How?

"Dante's taking over," I said in a flat voice.

"Yeah."   Joe turned to look at me curiously, his hands in his pockets.  "You know he doesn't like you much."

I looked at him.  This was an understatement.  Bruno Dante hated my guts.

"Keep your head down, Sara.  Maybe he'll stay busy with other things."

I nodded and stood up to leave.  Then, impulsively, I walked over to Joe and hugged him, grateful for all he'd been to me and my father over the years.

"I'll do that, Joe.  Don't worry."

I lied, of course.

* * * * *

Chapter Three

The day got no better after that.  By the time I got home, all I wanted was a workout and bed.  No more weirdness.  No more of these bizarre…whatever they were.  Visions?

Then I saw it.

On my kitchen table in a bold, neat hand:   an address, a time and the words, Answers to our questions.

I knew who had left it, there was no doubt in my mind.  He had been in my apartment.  The thought infuriated me and I went to the door, locking everything and following up by drawing every drape in the place.  Still the sense of violation stayed with me.  Finally, in a fit of pique, I pulled the bracelet off my wrist, threw it across the room, then sat down in the kitchen to clean my gun.

Before the anger had time to evaporate, my cell phone rang.  I hoped suddenly that it would be Jake.  Another evening of normalcy would suit me right down to the ground tonight.

I flipped open the tiny instrument.  "Pezzini."

"Did you find my note?"

I sat bolt upright in outrage.  "How did you get this number?" I demanded.

The soft voice went on as if I hadn't spoken.  "I know you've been seeing some things lately that you don't understand."

My free hand clenched into a hard, tense fist.  "How do you…?"   He interrupted me before I could finish the question.

"So have I."

For the second time in a single day, I was at a loss for words.  Seconds ticked by as I groped for something to say.  Hell, I couldn't even figure out how I felt at the moment.  Frightened?  Mad?  Maybe a little bit relieved that somebody else on the planet knew what I'd been experiencing?

"Please come, Sara.  We need to understand."

"We need to understand?"  My gaze fell again on the note.  "And what do you mean our questions?" 

He only repeated, "Please, Sara."

I thought about the things I'd been seeing, particularly the death and violence to people I cared about, and I felt my need to know leap up and beat my sense of self-preservation into cowering submission.

"I'll be there."

"Thank you."  The line went dead.

I certainly wasn't going to go unprepared.  If I was a few minutes late then Mr. Tall, Dark and Strange could just by God wait for me.  I reached to reassemble my gun then suddenly sat still, astonished.

The bracelet I had thrown across the room was back in its place on my arm.

* * *

Chapter Four

The address was off the beaten path.  Way off.   I thought being a cop had taught me to get around in my city, but I'd needed a street map to locate this place.  Parking my bike at the end of the block, I warily approached the row of ageing townhouses, passing the address twice and stalling.  The neighborhood was dead; no kids, no dogs, not even a junkie was in sight.  To my heightened senses it seemed like the wind itself had stopped blowing on this street.

Finally I approached the porch.  As I mounted the dirty, cobwebbed steps I half expected the door to swing open by itself, creaking, beckoning me into the dark lair of whatever blood-sucking creature dwelt within.  I suppressed a nervous giggle.

The door stayed closed.

I knocked once on its peeling surface and it was answered promptly by a small, leather-faced man wearing a startling fur-trimmed hat and some sort of ethnic-traditional robes.  I had seen this man before, and for a long moment I stood on the porch staring rudely, trying to place him.

He swung the door wide and stepped aside. 

"Yes," he said.  "You have seen me before."  My antennae tingling, I slowly crossed the threshold and he closed the door behind me, adding,  "And there are many other times when you did not see me."

The room I entered was circular.  Its walls were covered with some kind of dark mural paintings, but the lights were too low for me to make out their subject matter.  For all the exterior neglect of the place, this room was clean and the air was fresh-smelling, touched with a hint of something rich and warm.  Vanilla, maybe.

Standing in the middle of the room with his head bowed, was the bearded man from the museum. 

My leather-faced host joined him at the center of the space.  "Come, Sara.  It is time for you to learn something of your past…and your future."

I stayed put, curious but unconvinced.  "Who are you people?"

"I am Lazar," he answered with a touch of impatience.  "This is Ian Nottingham.  Now come along, Sara.  Our time here is short."

He stood next to Nottingham, beckoning, plainly not about to waste further time talking.

"Come," he repeated, with some urgency.  "All your questions will be answered now."

The man called Nottingham finally raised his head and looked at me, his dark eyes laser-like in their intensity.  "Relax, Sara," he said.  "I would do anything to please you."

His words echoed in my ears and I could feel the curtain of unreality begin its descent again.  I knew he'd spoken those words to me before.  As I stared at him, attempting to put the words in some sort of context, he stepped forward, pulled off his glove and held out his hand to me. 

I simply had to know.  Pushing aside my doubts about the wisdom of the whole situation, I put my right hand in his.  Immediately the bracelet began to emit a heated scarlet glow.  To my right, Lazar stretched out his hand and I saw that he was wearing a large, ornate silver ring whose center stone was a duplicate of that in my bracelet.   Clearly, they were some kind of set. 

He gave me a long, solemn look, then turned and directed the same to Nottingham, who tightened his grip on my hand.  Finally he turned his hand over and put the stone in his ring into direct contact with the stone in my bracelet.

And the bottom dropped out of reality.

A normal movie engages sight and hearing.  What happened next was like watching a movie with tracks for all my senses; like I'd imagined a virtual reality game to be.  For all intents and purposes, I left that room and went on a journey, at blistering speed.  I struggled to take it all in as it blew by me.    Places I'd never seen but somehow I recognized.  People who were at once familiar and unknown.  Events I never thought had happened, but whose course I could predict even as I watched them unfold before me.

Through it all, as if reflected on the movie screen, was the face of the man, Nottingham, who still gripped my hand.  I kept part of my awareness locked on that face, anchoring me in the only reality I could accept. 

I heard myself cry out as I saw, one after another, the deaths of those near to me.  Danny.  Joe.  Jake.  Great pangs of anguish tore through me at death after death of people I thought I didn't know.

Conchobar.  It's rude to intrude when a man's talking to his wife.

A young man called Gabriel.  When somebody messes with one of my friends, they mess with me.

Dante.  Well, Sara Pezzini, at least you got to hear him say he loves you.

And, finally, even the death – or self-sacrifice - of the man standing with me now in this house of horrors.  I love you…in unguarded moments.

Wound through it all were images of another, a man with white hair and a regal, confident bearing.  A man who brought death to everything he touched.  Come with me, Sara. Leave your pedestrian war zone behind.

Events played forward at dizzying speed.  Too much, too fast to make any sense, I could only try to take it all in and hope for processing later.  If there was a later.

Jake, good lookin' guy like you ... ever wonder why I haven't made a move?

Congratulations, Sara.  It was a test, and you passed.

We can touch each other now, Sara, because you're dying, too.

Something tells me you will be the very first to know.

I can't believe this.  F.B.I. Agent Jake McCartey?

Parallel lines always meet.

I'm saying goodbye to you, Sara.

I will find out for myself...

Then it was over.  The sudden and complete cessation of input left me reeling, and I would have fallen to my knees if Nottingham had not stepped forward to support me.  I clutched at his arms and we stared at each other for several seconds.  Finally it came to me that I needed to ask Lazar some serious questions.  I propped myself up and looked around.

He stood near the door.   "What you just saw was real," he said quietly before I could even manage to form a question.  "Or rather, one version of reality.  Think it through carefully, Sara.  Nottingham is here to help you.  Let him."  He placed one hand on the levered door handle.  "The rules have been bent for you, Sara, primarily because of one very powerful enemy of the Witchblade.  You have been given an extraordinary chance because you are an extraordinary woman.  Do not squander it."

Then he was gone.

Abruptly I realized that I was still pressed closely against Ian Nottingham, as if using his bulk as some sort of shield.  I backed away quickly.

"Sara…" he began.

"No," I said, shaking my head.  "Don't say anything…right now."  I stumbled toward the door, fighting an urge to run back to him, to return to that feeling of safe haven.

"I have to…think."

I left him standing there and lunged for the door handle, praying the world would still be on the other side when I opened it.

* * *

Chapter Five

The world was still there. 

I made my way through the darkening streets to my bike and pointed myself toward home.  The dusk was soothing, somehow.  Less sensory input.

Once home, I desperately wanted the oblivion of sleep.  My brain, however, was still overloaded with the images conveyed by the Witchblade, and simply would not turn off.  I didn't toss and turn as I would any other sleepless night.  Instead, I lay stiff and unblinking, my vision turned inward as I picked through events, conversations, faces and emotions.  Fitting the pieces together.  By morning I had a pretty fair rendering of the chain of events and cast of players.

After a night like that, the next day was a bitch on wheels.  My phone was ringing when I walked in – late and not caring.

Danny pushed a cup of coffee at me as I sat down and reached for the phone.  My eyes remained on Danny as I answered, simultaneously reliving the dreadful memory of his death and enjoying the sight of him alive and well.

"Pezzini."

"All day I told myself, she didn't see that number on the cup.  That's why she didn't call."

Mr. FBI.  I couldn't help smiling.  "Hey, Jake.  No, I saw it.  Yesterday was just…a crazy day.  Thanks, though.  That was great."

"You got lunch plans?"

"Lunch?"  I glanced at Danny.  He shook his head and held up a file labelled Simmons.

"Looks like I'll be sitting in on depositions at lunchtime today."  Truthfully, I was glad to have a valid excuse not to see Jake just yet.  I needed to make some decisions about how much of last night I could believe…and how I would handle it.  If even part of what I'd seen was true these would be important decisions.  Lives could depend on me.

"Call me at home."

"You got it."  I could hear voices in the background, rising in volume.  "I gotta run," Jake said.  "New arrivals.  I'll call you."

We hung up.  I glanced across the desk to see Danny smirking into his coffee cup.

"What?"

"Nothing, Pezzini.  Not a thing."

"Yeah.  Like hell."

I refused to dignify his subtle teasing with any more of a response.  His smirk broadened and I knew I'd already given him too much.

By the day's end I should have been seriously dragging from lack of sleep.  Instead I felt myself vibrating with energy, needing to somehow track down this mysterious Lazar character.  Far from answering all my questions, as he promised, he had opened a virtual Pandora's box, and my curiosity had branched and spread like a contagious disease until I literally couldn't think of anything else.  The depositions were a nightmare of boredom and confinement, and I wriggled in my seat like a child for nearly two hours.

Finally, even patient Danny couldn't take any more of me, and I guiltily snuck out early, pleading illness.  I know he didn't believe me; Danny knew I never got sick.  But he kept his questions to himself, and was too kind to admit that he was glad to get rid of me for a while.

It was a relief to get home, to stop pretending to pay attention to anything besides what was circling in my head.  With a sigh I tugged out the tie holding my hair.  A run?  The thought of going out again was unappealing.  Maybe a bath.  I tossed keys, jacket and gun in the direction of the sofa, then froze as I saw them land on top of a black overcoat.  I whirled quickly, glancing around.

Ian Nottingham stood looking out my window, his hands clasped behind him.  Whatever he was doing here tonight, I decided I was too tired to muster up any outrage about this repeat home invasion.  He took no notice of my presence and I used the opportunity to study him more carefully. 

It struck me forcefully as I looked at him that I'd never appreciated his extraordinary beauty.  His hair was loose, hanging in unkempt black waves nearly to his shoulders.  In the reflection of the window glass I could see the symmetrical planes of his face, and his dark eyes, their focus soft and far away.  The powerful outlines of his body were apparent, undisguised by the enveloping overcoat lying tossed on my sofa.

I realized that I was seeing him now with different eyes.  Whatever my previous perception of  Ian Nottingham had been – assassin, mysterious guardian, servant of Kenneth Irons – I was seeing him now as a man who had done his best to protect me and who had ultimately sacrificed his life on my behalf.  It's amazing what living a chunk of time over again can do for your perspective.

He continued to stare silently out into the evening, or at my reflection, I wouldn't tell which.

The emotional confusion of Lazar's revelations had not left me, and I felt again, strongly, an involuntary urge to be close to Nottingham, to push myself under his arm and hide my face against his body.  Reflexively I pushed the thought away; I despised that sort of weakness.  Nevertheless, I found myself crossing the room to him, drawn by this inexplicable longing.

I stood an arm's length away and followed the direction of his gaze.  I stayed quiet for a minute or two, surveying the lighted city, then asked, "What do you see?"

"I see…life," he answered softly.

I thought about this for a minute.  If everything we had been shown was true, then, like me, he would have gained an understanding of the actions and motivations of all the players in our little psychodrama.  Could he be questioning his own role in these events?  Doubting his own loyalties?  For all I knew, he might view this as a chance to get free of Irons – and me – and have a real life, like the ones he was seeing out my window.

"Do you wish you had one?"  I said impulsively.  He glanced at me and I added, "A life of your own, I mean.  You didn't seem to miss it…before."

"I am as I was," he replied shortly.

"I don't think you are."

"Then it is your perception that has changed."

"What we learned has to have affected you.  It has me."

Finally he turned and looked at me, his eyes paralyzing in their intensity.

I would do anything to make you happy.

I fisted my hands against a sudden powerful desire to reach up and feel the texture of his beard, to smooth his moustache.

"Why are you here?"

"To help you.  To serve the Blade."

You can keep me here forever.

"Why should I trust you?"

"You know my motivations.  The Witchblade has bared all for you to see."

I love you…in unguarded moments.

"You left me," I charged, suddenly angry.  "You gave up your life because you couldn't live with the conflict between your loyalty to Irons and your …"  I stopped.  …love for me.  I couldn't say the words.

He was completely still, only his eyes moving over my face.   I could hear the blood pulse in my ears when his gaze touched on my lips.

"You accuse me rightly in that one thing, at least."  He reached out and picked up a strand of my hair.  "And I will never willingly forsake you again."

His eyes returned to mine and I felt again that irresistible current between us.  Something dark and elemental in his eyes drew me in and I had no will to turn away.  We were only inches apart and I felt as tensely drawn as a piano string.  If he did not touch me now I would simply snap and fly apart.  If he did touch me…I could not imagine the results.

He took my face in one hand and drew his thumb slowly across my lips.  That simple touch went straight to my center in a blaze of heat as powerful as if he had cupped his hand directly between my legs.  The air seemed suddenly too heavy to pull into my lungs.  He took a step forward and pressed me against the window, moving his hands slowly down my arms until he wound our fingers together and drew my hands behind my back, arching me into intimate contact with him from shoulders to knees.  I felt the heat and strength of his body and could not suppress a shameful tremble. 

If Jake McCartey ignited a warm glow, Ian Nottingham was a blast furnace that would consume us both.  At this moment, pressed against the length of him with his mouth a breath from mine, I was willing to abandon myself to that exquisite fate.

The telephone rang.  Its shrill summons barely penetrated the heavy shroud of sexual tension that cocooned us.  I heard my own voice as if from a distance.  Pezzini.  Go.

"Pez, it's me."  Jake's disembodied voice floated from the speaker of my answering machine.  "You told me to call later so I'm following orders like a good rookie."  He laughed a little.  "Hey I'd love to get together tonight. We could get some dinner, shoot a little pool.  Maybe I'll kick your ass for a change."  He paused and his voice altered, becoming playful, suggestive.  "If you don't feel like going out I happen to know there's some high quality late-night cartoons showing at my place.  We could watch…or not.  Call me."

Nottingham was looking at me like a starving man seeing diners through a restaurant window.    I watched the visible effort he made to leash what we had almost set loose between us.  Finally he blinked and slowly backed away, releasing my hands last of all.  My body cried out in disappointment.

"Ian…" I began.

He stopped me with a gentle finger to my lips.

"You have a phone call to return."

Briefly he bowed his head before me, then turned to gather up his coat and gloves.  My only help and resource was about to disappear.  Leaving me, incidentally, still tingling and heavy with a depth of yearning I'd never known.

"No," I said furiously.  I stalked across the distance between us and jerked his coat away.  "Don't you even think of walking out on me."

He kept his eyes on the floor.  "I'm sorry, Sara.  I did not mean to let this happen."

"Well, it was a surprise to me too," I replied, still angry, but fearful that he would walk away.  "Look, there's just too much happening here.  I can't decide who and what to believe.  I don't understand half of what I've been shown.  Now you…now this…"  I could feel hateful tears of frustration threatening.  God, I hated crying women.

He waited, looking at me. 

"If you walk away from me now, I have no one else..."  My voice cracked finally, and it was me who looked down at the floor.  I turned away to the window and took up his original position there, unable to face him.  In the window's reflection I watched him pick his coat up from the floor.  A stab of bitter despair struck deeply and I closed my eyes, waiting for the sound of the door.

For a few moments there was silence, broken only by the vague sounds of the people in my apartment building.  Then I felt his presence behind me and opened my eyes to see his face reflected above my own.  He laid his hands on my shoulders, and this time the contact was comforting rather than scalding.

"I will never leave you if you need me."  Our eyes met in the window glass, and with profound relief I leaned back against him.

We began the process of sorting things out.

* * *

Chapter Six

In the end, we decided the direct approach would be best.  This worked fine for me; it was almost always my style anyway.

We had to move quickly, before Kenneth Irons could become a factor.  Though we were reasonably certain that he shared none of our information concerning the Witchblade replay (as I thought of it) Nottingham was quick to reinforce my perception that Irons was very knowledgeable about the Blade, and that his special connection to it sometimes defied explanation.  We agreed that the direct approach would not be best for Irons and, in fact, I should avoid contact with him as long as possible.

Nottingham, however could not avoid being around Irons, and although I didn't say it to him, I had my doubts about Ian's ability to be deceptive for very long.  He was simply too conditioned to obedience, and I wasn't sure how long his resolve would hold out if Irons became suspicious and turned up the heat.

It was very late, but I picked up the phone and called Jake.  Time to get some hard answers from Mr. FBI.

"Want some company?"

"Yeah…yeah."  He sounded reasonably awake and alert, but surprised.  "I thought I might hear from you earlier."

"I…uh…got tied up with some stuff and just got your message," I fibbed.  "But if it's too late for you…"  I let my voice trail off wistfully. 

He took the bait.  "It's never too late for you.  Come on over."

I put the phone down and glanced at Nottingham, who stood near the door.  Shrugging into my leather jacket, I picked up my keys and joined him there.  He looked down at me for a long moment, then picked up my hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing the gentlest of kisses on the inside of my wrist.  I didn't try to hide a delicious shudder.

"I'll be close," he said, then pulled open my door and disappeared into the hallway.

I waited a few minutes to give him a head start, then locked up and followed him to Jake's apartment.  At this hour traffic was light; the trip didn't take long.  Jake answered the door wearing sweats and a smile.

"Are you happy 24 hours a day?" I grumped.  No point in getting out of character for this.

"I'm happy when I see you.  Come on in."  He pulled me through the door by the arm and laughingly snatched me close to his chest.  Gently he kissed my forehead, then my lips before releasing me with yet another grin.  I wondered in passing whether Nottingham had seen that small embrace from whatever vantage point he'd chosen.

"Want a beer?"

"Yeah, if it's really cold."  I laid my jacket over a chair back and joined him in the kitchen.  We clinked the frosty bottles together and took a first swig.

"Where's home, Jake?" I asked, parking one hip on a barstool. 

"California, I guess."

I nodded.  "Mmm.  So…you work out of a field office there?"

He was quick to recover, but I saw the minute freeze I was looking for.  "Huh?"

"You know.  Is that where you'll head back to after you take care of the White Bull problem?"  I cocked my head at him curiously, my face as straight as if we were talking about the bad coffee at the precinct.

"Pez…"  He came around the bar and pulled out the stool next to me.  Our knees touched when he sat down and faced me.  He shook his head, shrugging.  "What's up here?"

He'd decided to play it cool and I'd have to push him harder.  This was somehow disappointing; I'd hoped he would confide in me.  It had occurred to me of course, that his interest in me was manufactured, just part of his cover.  On some level I hoped otherwise, but even that thought was fading before the memory of a pair of bottomless dark eyes.

"I know everything, Jake."  I ticked points off on my fingers in a matter-of-fact way.  "The White Bulls are a corrupt underground in our department.  You're FBI, here to clean them out.  Bruno Dante is the ringleader.  If he hasn't already recruited you, he will."  I paused.  "Oh, and Dante would really, really like to kill me."  I left out the whole Kenneth Irons angle as something best dealt with as a separate issue.  I'd need Nottingham's help there.

Jake stared at me a moment before shifting his eyes away.  I'd caught him completely flat-footed on this.  Now, I hoped he would simply accept that I knew, and accept that I myself wasn't involved with the White Bulls, so we could start getting constructive.  He fiddled with the condensation on his beer bottle. 

"Where'd you come by this kind of information?" he asked casually, admitting nothing.

"It isn't important."

"I think it is."

I put my hand on his knee, knowing where his question came from.  "Jake, there isn't anybody else who knows about this.  Your cover is safe.  And believe me, they would never, ever get it from the source I did."

He looked at me with a skeptical expression and I added emphatically.  "Never."

He chewed his lip briefly and then I saw him decide to give up the game.  "OK."  He raised his hands in surrender.  "Busted.  Now what?"

I took a deep relieved breath.  "Now I tell you everything I know about the Bulls."

"And you?"

"I'll be avenging my father," I replied coldly.

He considered this.  "I don't want you involved if it's personal."

I finished my beer with a long swallow.  "Don't worry, Jake, if it helps your cover to be seen with me then I'll just go along that far."

He frowned.  "Is that what you think?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, getting off my stool and picking up the empty bottle.  "I assumed."

Jake stood up and caught my elbow, forcing me to face him.  "You are not part of any cover."  He looked at me intently, for once not smiling.  "I like your company.  I like to hang out with you, shoot pool, talk about work…I like to see you laugh."  His hands were on my upper arms now, pulling me closer.  "And I'm very, very attracted to you."

The warm glow was back in place and I looked at his full lips, knowing what they felt like on my own and, frankly, wanting some more of it.  Jake was like the warm sun, shining in on a life sadly lacking in romance, friendship and simple enjoyments.  I am high-maintenance.  Not many men will rise to that challenge. 

Deep down, however, I felt a strong sensation of foreboding.  I hoped this would not come down to a choice.  Given the option of a warm glow that filled me and kept me warm, or a searing heat that cleaned and emptied me like slash-and-burn…well, I had to honestly admit that I could go either way.  It depended on what day it was.

He moved closer and I shut my eyes as he kissed me.  I liked the feel and scent of him, and let my hands find their way up under his sweatshirt.  He was muscled and hard, without an ounce of fat.  His arms came around me, holding me comfortably close and my lips opened under his.  Then came a vision of long, tousled hair and eyes as dark as sin. 

I pulled back, both of us breathing deeply.  "Look, Jake….I don't know if this is such a good idea."

"What…you still think you're cover?"

I backed away a step and ran one hand through my hair, feeling like I was babbling.  "I don't know…no, I don't think that.  I just don't want to get too involved here…too fast."

I'd had about all I could take of emotional excess tonight and was relieved beyond telling when Jake nodded in understanding.  "Hey, it's OK.  We'll go slow."  He lifted my chin and smiled.  "Just don't drop out completely on me.  OK?"  I gave him a small nod in return that seemed to satisfy him.

He walked over to a desk in the corner of the living room and I heard the boot-up beep of his computer.  "Come on.  I'll show you what I've got. You can fill in the blanks."

Gratefully, I followed him into the living room and sank down on the chair he pulled over for me.  As he opened various files and began talking, I looked out the window to the darkness beyond, feeling the presence of the unseen observer who, I knew, watched and guarded.

* * *

Chapter Seven

With a plan in place to bring down the White Bulls, thankfully not involving the death of Joe Siri, it was time to turn my attention to the really big issue clouding my life.  Kenneth Irons.

I had no idea yet what to do.

I knew now that his awful need had resulted in the deaths of a long list of people, some of whom I had not yet met in this replay of time.  Elizabeth Bronte, my father, Dominique Boucher, Gabriel, Jake.  In a way, even his own faithful servant, Ian Nottingham, had died because of him.  I was trusting now that this faithful servant would see his egocentric master in a true light, and that his devotion to me would enable him to overcome a lifetime of conditioned responses.  I could not deal with Kenneth Irons on my own.

How I got through the next day is a wonder to me.  I may even have fooled Danny as I smiled my way through our schedule of paperwork and interrogations.  Finally, late in the day, I went to see Joe Siri.

Wanda barred the way without subtlety, evidently taking her role as guard dog very seriously.  She settled her width comfortably in the aisleway that ran past her desk. 

"Is he expecting to see you Detective?"

"Wanda, it's OK, really.  I drop in on Joe when I need to."

She actually shook a chiding finger in my face.  "He's very busy, you know.  These types of interruptions make it very difficult to organize his day."  Her brows lifted in two righteous arcs as she made this point.  I stared at them, wondering what possessed some women to remove their real eyebrows and paint on these little half-moons of perpetual surprise.

I mustered up a tiny trickle of patience, but the well was running dry.  "Come on, Wanda," I cajoled, smiling.  I began to edge around her, thinking I might be able to make an end-squeeze if not an end-run.

She shifted.  "Ah ah aaah," she warned, the finger back in action again.

I snapped.  "Look, you stupid cow.  I need to see Joe, and I need to see him now.  Get out of my way or I'll go through you."

Her face paled and she drew herself up indignantly, tucking her chin down in the now-familiar motion that doubled and tripled them grotesquely.  "Well…"  She back away and sat heavily in her castered chair, repeating, "Well…"

She was out of my mind by the time I reached Joe's door.  He looked up at my quiet knock.

"Come in, Sara."

I pulled the door shut, glancing around quickly to see if the rotweiller/secretary had drawn any unwanted attention to my visit here.  Joe looked at me curiously and laid down the correspondence he was reading.

"Is something wrong?"

"Joe, I have something to say and not much time, so please just listen."  He nodded and kept quiet.

"I think the reason you are talking about retirement has very little to do with the grind and a lot to do with the White Bulls."  Joe reacted but still said nothing. "I want you to know that the FBI is all over this and they're going down, Joe.  They're going down.  If you can hang in there through this, you'll have a clean department."  I wasn't sure what else to say.  "I just don't want you to leave something you love if you don't have to," I finished lamely.

Joe shook his head in amazement.  "Sara…are you involved in this?"

"With the White Bulls?  Of course not.  But I do know the FBI agent working on the case and I'm…involved there."

He studied me for a minute, thinking it over.  "Can you tell me anything else?"

"I could, Joe, but I think it would be better if I didn't."

"I see."  He was nodding, I could see the gears grinding.  It was time to leave before he started asking questions I didn't want him asking.

"I see," he repeated, then I saw his face begin to lighten.

"A clean department?"

"Clean as a whistle, Joe."

He began to rock a little in his chair, almost smiling, his tone musing.  "That would certainly be a welcome change, wouldn't it?  A very welcome change."

I went to the door.

"Sara?"

I looked over my shoulder.

"Thank you."

I nodded.  "You're welcome."

I left Joe's office feeling pretty good.  My cell phone chirped and I answered almost happily.  "Yeah?"

"He wants to see you."

"When?"  I didn't need to ask Nottingham who he was.

"Now.  I'm on my way to pick you up."

"Pretty presumptuous."

"Yes.  He is that."

I shrugged.  "Well, I guess it's time, then.  Nottingham?"

"Yes, Sara?"

"Be prepared for anything, will you?"

"I will be."

I continued down the hall back toward my office, the butterflies already taking flight in my stomach.  Kenneth Irons.  I didn't feel prepared.

As I passed the noisy, foul-tasting drinking fountain near the elevator a stooped figure turned with a cleaning rag dangling from his hand.  Though I continued moving I felt as though the moment stretched like a rubber band as our eyes met and held.  Distinctly, I saw him nod at me, a ghost of a smile around his mouth.

Approval.  I must be doing something right.  With renewed confidence, I collected my essentials and went down to meet Nottingham.  I didn't bother looking for Lazar again. 

I knew he wouldn't be there.

* * *

Chapter Eight

Nottingham delivered me to a pair of massive wooden doors.  When he reached for the handles I stopped him with a hand on his arm.  Whatever was about to happen in there, I couldn't shake  the feeling that Nottingham was the weakest link.

"Anything, Ian," I reminded him in a whisper.

He nodded, his face calm.  "I am prepared, Sara."

We entered the lion's den.

"Detective Pezzini.  I'm Kenneth Irons."  He greeted me with a warm smile and extended hand, a shocking contrast to my memories of his attempt to kill me.  It took an effort to remind myself that he had none of those recollections.

"Hello, Mr. Irons."  Then I simply waited, leaving to him to set the tone and subject of this meeting. 

"Please, Detective, won't you sit down?"  He offered a large wing backed chair then sank into a duplicate of it a few feet away.  Nottingham received no such offer and went to stand in the corner.  I could feel him watching me from behind Irons' back but did not dare to make eye contact.

"No doubt you are curious why I invited you here," he began. 

But I didn't feel in the mood to play refined games.  "Simply sending a car for me hardly amounts to an invitation, Mr. Irons." 

He had the grace to at least pretend shame.  "I hope you will forgive my presumption, Detective, it is a bad habit of mine," he said apologetically.

I nodded, then waited for him to go on.

"I am curious, to know something more about what happened at the Midtown Museum."

 

I shook my head.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Irons, I can't discuss an open case with you."

He seemed unsurprised by my answer, and I didn't think the museum was anything like his real reason for summoning me here.  As if to prove me right, his gaze went to the bracelet on my wrist.

"What a beautiful bracelet," he remarked.

I opened my mouth, then quickly realized I was in a corner.  If I acknowledged that the bracelet was from his Joan of Arc collection it would require that I offer to surrender it to him, as I had before.  If I did not acknowledge the origin of the bracelet I would be admitting a lie and he would immediately suspect that I had some idea of its value.  A dangerous position.  And I couldn't sit here all day pondering my answer.

"This may be from the museum," I said.  "Does it belong to you?"

"Does anything really belong to anybody, Sara?"

"That's quite an evasive answer, Mr. Irons."

"If the Witchblade does belong to one person, it belongs to you, Sara."

"The Witchblade, huh?"  I shivered at the familiarity of the words falling from our lips.

"If you have the time, I'd love to show you some of my art.  I have a whole room devoted to the Witchblade."

I stood up.  "I really can't tonight, Mr. Irons.  Maybe some other time."

He reached out his hand again and I took it automatically.  After the socially acceptable clasp was over, he held on, studying my face intently.  My stomach began to squeeze up into knots as fight-or-flee hormones began racing through my body.  Somehow I kept my face expressionless.

I pulled gently but still he kept his grip on my hand, staring almost blankly, as if his senses were tuned into some other medium than visual. 

"Mr. Irons…" I said.

Suddenly he turned my hand over palm-up, then gave a quick, sharp tug on the bracelet.  It did not budge, and I felt a bead of nervous perspiration trickle down my spine.  We were way off script now.

Irons released my hand abruptly and stepped back, his eyes narrowed.  "How could this be?  The bracelet has evolved, as if you had already passed…." 

His voice trailed off and he frowned in concentration.  I tried to put a look of innocent confusion on my face, hoping against hope that I could still get out of this without a confrontation.  In my heart I knew that this was probably a vain hope.

Irons drew in a sharp breath.   "You have learned to control time."  His face lit with a sort of ferocious triumph.  "You must tell me how this occurred, what it was like.  Everything you remember."

I backed up a step.  "I don't know what you are talking about, Mr. Irons."

"Come now, Sara.  Let me be your friend, your guide.  No one else knows more about the Witchblade than I.  There is so much that I can teach you, that I can learn from you.  No one else could possibly understand."

I simply shook my head, my eyes flicking to Nottingham for the barest instant.

It was a mistake.  A huge mistake.  Irons did the math in less than a second.

He smiled and turned to Nottingham, who watched alertly from a few feet away.  "Ian."  He held out his arm and beckoned.  "Come here to me."  When Nottingham approached, Irons put an arm around his shoulders and pointed him at me like I was a rare zoo specimen.  "Behold our true wielder, Ian.  She has slipped in right under our noses and is more than I'd dared to hope for."

Then his face changed and became cold and calculating.  "But then you already know that, don't you?"  He released Nottingham with a small shove in my direction. 

"Kill her and bring me the Witchblade.  In whichever order amuses you."

Nottingham's head snapped up and his eyes locked on me.  I could see trembling visible in his shoulders.  His face was a study in conflict and I could only hope that his more enlightened half would win this battle of will.  I truly did not want to have to kill him.

He stood fast.  I felt confidence rise up like a surge of hormones, infusing me with force and resolve.  If Irons wanted a confrontation I would be happy, delighted even, to provide him with one.  I stepped forward, placing my hand in the center of Nottingham's chest.  He closed his eyes, something like relief on his face.

"He can't kill me, Mr. Irons," I said arrogantly.  "I won't allow it."

Irons' face flushed with rage and he spoke to Nottingham in a barely-controlled voice.  "Ian.  Do not make a foolish mistake.  Do you imagine that she will love you?  Do you imagine that you have anything to offer her?  Only I have ever made a place for you in this world.  Do not betray me now."

This was the pivotal moment I had been dreading.  Everything hung on Nottingham now, on whether he could summon the will to cling to his own beliefs and overcome a lifetime of control by this man. 

I spoke up, partly to give Nottingham more time, partly out of an irresistible urge to goad Irons.

"You're right.  The Witchblade did run time backwards, Mr. Irons.  And I'll tell you this:  I've already lived a lifetime's worth of your evil and manipulations.  I…know…you."   I paused.  "And so does Ian Nottingham."

My hand had remained on Nottingham's chest and I willed as much positive energy as I could through that contact.  I had no fear that he would actually attempt to kill me;  I already knew he would self-destruct before bringing himself to that. 

The Witchblade glowed vividly, then suddenly unfolded into the gauntlet.  I stepped back from Nottingham and raised my hand threateningly toward Irons.

"I'm not as ignorant and confused as you first knew me, Mr. Irons.  You will find me a formidable enemy."  I stepped closer, aggression pumping through me.  "Believe me…you have no idea."  Images of the bodies piled up in this library passed through my mind and it was all I could do not to skewer the man where he stood.

The gauntlet snapped back once more into bracelet form.  I looked at Nottingham, who had recovered his parade-rest posture, head down.  With his eyes hidden I couldn't get any feel for his frame of mind.  Would he walk out with me?  Or remain behind, within Irons' corrupting influence, to be dealt with another day?

I lifted my chin and looked disdainfully at Irons.  "Good night, Mr. Irons," I said sarcastically.  "I've enjoyed your hospitality."

I turned my back on him, threw open the doors of the library and walked out.  By the time I reached the front door I'd still heard no steps behind me, and with a sinking heart I realized that Nottingham had chosen to remain behind with Irons.

* * *

Chapter Nine

I couldn't go home.

Picking up a taxi, I had myself dropped at a favorite coffee house in my neighborhood.  But for once, a tall latte was not the prescription I needed.  Restlessly I went back to the streets and walked, finally winding up at a pool parlor often frequented by cops from my precinct.  I had, in fact, relieved a lot of them of their cash at these pool tables.  I stepped into the familiar, comforting interior, letting my eyes adjust.

They saw me before I saw them.  A small group from homicide and drugs was hard at work at a nearby pool table, their drinks littering every surrounding surface.  As I smiled and raised my hand in greeting, a pair of strong arms lifted me from behind in a bear hug.  "Hey, beautiful."

"Jake," I laughed. "Put me down."

"Go ahead, McCartey," hollered one of the drug guys.  "Drag her off to your cave, we won't tell anybody at the precinct on Monday.  Really."  They all hooted in raucous agreement, telling me that Jake and I would be the subject of intense and endless gossip next week.

He released me.  "Well, since we're gonna get hung anyway, can I buy you a drink?"

"Sure, Jake.  I could use a little sunshine." 

He raised his eyebrows, but didn't ask.  We found a table far enough away from the pool game that conversation was possible and I sat down to nurse my drink.  Maybe the alcohol would counteract the caffeine and, by some miracle, I would sleep tonight.  I wasn't optimistic.

Jake filled up the silence with small talk about the day and current cases.  I nodded in all the right places, but felt a curious disconnect.  Sunshine didn't seem to be doing the trick tonight.  I was conscious of a new and deeply shadowed aspect of myself, and no longer thought of myself only as Sara-the-cop, as I had for so long.  I was now, I realized, Sara-the-wielder.  I felt a grounding in that persona that I had never acknowledged before.  With an effort, I joined the one-sided conversation.

"How's your special case coming?" I asked.

"Good.  Real good, thanks to you."  Jake looked at me speculatively.  "I might be able to wrap this up in less than a month, then let Justice take over."

"Then what?"

"That…might be kinda up to you, Sara."

"What?"

He toyed with his beer, scraping at the paper label as he spoke.  "Well, I was thinking about, uh, asking for a transfer to the New York office."  Finally he looked at me.  "I hope my timing on this doesn't suck."

I came close to laughing, hearing these words again; so close to laughing in his handsome, earnest face.  I could, I thought, learn to really like a warm glow in my life.  Anyone who could make me laugh after the evening I'd had, who could make me see some humor in the painful déjà vu I'd been living, was surely worth a little effort.  Maybe I would do better to nurture the bright side of myself rather than that shadowy facet I'd just been brooding about.

I smiled.  "So I'm really not just cover?"

Jake shook his head then pulled my face to him and kissed me soundly.  Catcalls began immediately from the pool crew.

I stood up, still smiling.  "The surfing sucks here, but I think I might like having you around, McCartey.  You can bat.  You can shoot.  You can kiss."

He spread his hands.  "Hey, I'm an all-around useful guy.  You heading out?"

"I have to," I said.  "I can't keep going any more tonight.  You stay, though.  It'll keep my honor intact."  I gestured with one thumb toward the monkey troop on the other side of the bar.  "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

I walked out feeling considerably better than I had when I walked in.  I was ready to go home.

With a sigh of relief I shut myself in, suddenly feeling drained.  Although I'd thought I would never be able to switch my brain off, I found that some inner defense mechanism has simply swept everything out the door, tidied up and turned out the lights.  I craved sleep, and left a trail of clothing like breadcrumbs between my door and the bed.  I collapsed bonelessly and knew nothing more.

Sometime later a presence woke me.  I lay on my side, sheets rumpled around my hips, my eyes seeking cat-like in the gloom.  Then came a light touch on my shoulder; I froze.

The gentle caress of an ungloved hand slid in a long sensuous glide down my arm, dipping into my waist and tracing the curve of my hip to the edge of the bunched sheets.  In its wake my skin tingled and burned.  I forced myself to roll over and sit up, uncaring of my nakedness.  He loomed over me, darkness upon darkness in the lightless room.

"So you're finally carrying out your orders, Nottingham?"

I stood up, making some effort to clutch the sheet.  He stepped back wordlessly and I heard his overcoat drop to the floor. 

"Are you supposed to kill me here, or take me back to Irons so he can watch while you do it?"

I took another step forward.  "You can always cut off my hand if the Witchblade seems stuck."

"Sara…"

He stood his ground this time and I saw his hand rise in the dimness, reaching toward my face.  He touched me, and a deep shiver shook my body.  His hands touched my shoulders and began to stroke down my back, over my shoulder blades, pulling me closer. 

"Never forget," I whispered, "Irons has your replacement all lined up.  Waiting in a petri dish or something."

He removed his hands from me suddenly and in one smooth motion pulled his sweater off.  Sharp shadows defined the muscled planes of his chest.

"Touch me, Sara."

His soft request turned my insides to liquid.  Gently I placed my hands on his shoulders, slowly tracing their breadth, then trailed my fingertips down and across his chest, savoring the feel of  the smooth, springing hairs.  His breathing roughened and his hands at my back pulled me closer until no distance remained between us.

I raised my face and waited, my senses swimming.  After an eternity, he touched his lips to mine for the first time.

We molded together, the sensation acute and tantalizing.  There was nothing else in the world except the slow heat of his exquisite mouth, the tiny brushes of his moustache, the rough softness of his beard, the smell of his skin.  As we drew tightly together he pressed one leg between mine and the pressure was sweet and unbearable.

He stepped forward, and when my knees hit the mattress I sank down upon the bed.  He followed me, looking at me for a long moment from one knee before reaching down and taking me with him to the center of the bed. I had no idea of resistance.  Instead, as his weight settled on me I felt my new, dark side rise up to meet him in a wave of passion more intense than anything I'd ever experienced.  His hard strength between my legs consumed me and I wanted nothing more than to be taken by him in every way he chose.  There was no restraint in him this night, and I was glad of it.  It told me, more than words, everything I needed to know.  I arched against him, and gave myself up to an endless, heated abyss.

I had no thought for Jake until much later.  Ian lay beside me, awake, I knew, but still silent.  His hand lay fanned out on my belly, long fingers covering me from side to side.  I knew that he was an immutable part of my existence, and that this would not be the last night we would pass like this.  I felt myself splintered into two distinct but overlapping parts.  The world was no longer one of magic and belief, no longer a place where the blade wielder could be just that and no more.  I was two people and would have to learn a life of duality.

Sara-the-cop was falling in love with Jake.  Sara-the-wielder would never be parted from Ian Nottingham.

I felt an elemental connection to the bygone magical world.  Mystery…sacrifice… devotion…destiny.  I laid my hand over Ian's, where he still touched me possessively.  The Earth itself lived in an endless cycle of duality.  Two halves to each day…. Darkness and Light. 

So then, would I.

* * *

FIN

* * *

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